


The Purpose of Life

by seqular (sequential)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bad Dirty Talk TBH, Dirty Talk, Dream Sex, M/M, Unfinished, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 04:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15700392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequential/pseuds/seqular
Summary: Ford asks Bill about his purpose in life. Bill decides to show him.(Will probably never be finished unfortunately, so I may as well post what I have!)





	The Purpose of Life

**Author's Note:**

> From the Bill Cipher AMA:
> 
> > All right. What is the purpose of like for us mortals?
> 
> > PROCREATION OBVIOUSLY! WHAT A SICK, SAD, LIMITED MANDATE! BLAME NATURAL SELECTION PAL! THE PURPOSE OF THE POODLE'S LIFE IS UP TO THE BREEDER! IN IN YOUR CASE DARWIN'S THE ONE BREEDING!
> 
> \--
> 
> I think this may have actually been the first GF fic I started. Unfortunately, I never got around to finishing it and lost steam, so... here it is, anyway! They don't quite get around to fucking, but it's marked E anyway for Bill's dirty mouth and a lot of foreplay.

“Procreation!” Bill says, cackling.

Ford chuckles, nervously. That’s a joke, right? Sometimes he has a hard time with his muse’s sense of humor.

“But not for you! You’re meant for bigger things, Fordsy.”

“I am--?”

“What a size queen!” Bill interrupts. 

Ford doesn’t mean to, but he can feel himself turning red. A dream last week—bodies pushing into him, smothering him. Bill can’t know, he thinks, but even as the thought materializes he remembers Bill slipping in and out of his mind like a second skin. 

He’s grown suspiciously silent, he knows, but Bill is happy to continue without his input. “You and I, we’re above such base desires, aren’t we?” His eye expands, flashing with images of bestial copulation. “AREN’T WE?”

“Yes, we are,” Ford says, suppressing any thought otherwise.

“So you really are a virgin, eh?” Bill asks, doing a 180. 

“I’m… yes.” Ford feels oddly betrayed. He’s reminded of the guys in high school, ridiculing him for his inexperience. The memory sends a sick thrill through him he doesn’t want to consider in depth.

“You mean to say you’ve never put your dick inside a wet hole? You’ve never tried to make some mini-Fords with your slimy fluids?”

The last makes Ford snort, easing him out of the strange feeling he’s had since this conversation began. “You sure do know a lot about human reproduction for an all-knowing being.”

“Well, Sixer, you can change that! And your virginity too! I’ve always been curious about this pointless pursuit humans are so excited about."

For a moment, Ford hopes beyond hope, and then Bill snaps his fingers and summons a naked girl.

\--

She’s very attractive, almost too much so, perfect in a way that’s ethereal. Ford has never been quite so disappointed at the sight of a naked body, not that he’s seen many—any at all, really, outside of the dirty magazines he and Stanley used to hide away.

“Anything you want, Bill,” he says. Perhaps his disappointment is palpable to Bill, whose eye narrows as he considers him. Ford feels like an ingrate. He feels a burst of shame at his still clothed body, and, almost at an impulse, his hands come to the hem of his sweater, ready to pull it off. Bill’s expression clears, though, and the girl in front of him steps forward and stops him with a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to force yourself for me, Sixer,” Bill’s voice, coming from his triangle form but seeming to emanate from the body in front of Ford, too, though her lips don’t move. If he closes his eyes, focuses on the touch, the voice, Bill’s control evident in the strength of her grip… “I can always find someone more willing to observe.”

“No!” Ford says, eyes flying open. “I—I want this.”

Bill’s gaze sweeps up and down his body, piercing. The sweater feels like nothing.

“Maybe not this exactly?” Bill decides. “Men? Women? BEARS?” The body in front of him shifts with each word, becoming, of course, a literal bear by the last word.

Ford can’t help it—he laughs. “Unicorns? Gnomes? The ghosts of great scientific geniuses past—?” Bill is continuing, and Ford has to stifle his laughs with the hand that’s not caught in Nikola Tesla’s undead grip.

“Triangles?” Ford interrupts on a pause, and to his surprise, the apparition in front of him obeys. That’s right, he has as much control of his Dreamscape as Bill does. Bill is caught off guard, wide-eyed, and Ford says, “No, you were right the first time,” and the triangle changes back to a human male, a bulky guy with short hair and an easy grin.

\--

He’s not modeled after anyone specifically, though Ford’s guilty conscience can certainly call up a few unfortunate crushes that might have gone into it. If Bill notices any resemblances, though, he doesn’t comment on it as he circles them.

“It’s even more futile than regular copulation. I like it!” Bill decides. He’s recovered quickly, and in fact seems pleased that Ford had momentarily taken control, though he’s quick to wrest it back. The guy in front of Ford unceremoniously drops to his knees, opens his mouth and says, with his tongue hanging out, “Ahhhhhh.” It’s decidedly unappealing. Bill did say he didn’t know much about sex between humans, but—he’s got to be pulling Ford's leg, right?

“Bill…” Ford starts, but doesn’t know where to start. 

“Just kidding!” Bill says. Ford notes that he’s still speaking from his own body. He’s capable of spreading his consciousness into others, but... “You’re cute when you squirm, kid. Now let’s make you squirm for real.”

The man tugs Ford down by a hand and kisses him. Ford’s glasses are knocked askew on his face, and his nose bumps against the man’s uncomfortably, but it’s kind of sweet the way he’s interlaced his fingers with Ford’s, five against six. The man parts his lips to swipe his tongue against Ford’s lips, and Ford responds, parting them shyly. His eyes have slipped closed, and the outline of Bill, bright in the background, is still faint against the blackness. 

Ford is panting when they part, but the man doesn’t give him much time to recover. He pushes him back, and Ford notices that what had previously been dirt and grass beneath him has transformed into plush bedding that, nevertheless, stretches on endlessly.

He’d take a moment to ponder Bill’s idea of a romantic setting, but then the man’s lips against his again, this time forcing his tongue into Ford’s mouth rather than waiting. The slick appendage drags against his own, and his mouth feels full of spit. It’s actually kind of gross, if he thinks about it, but then the man really fucks his tongue in and, Ford thinks, he can do gross. 

Especially when gross means a guy pinning him down, body weight making him short of breath. God, what’s wrong with him? The man grinds his hips down in a fluid motion, and the friction against Ford’s hardening dick forces a surprised moan out of him.

Bill seems delighted at that, if his cackling is anything to go by. “It looks like I had you pinned wrong, huh, Sixer?”

“W-what?” Ford asks, trying to pay attention. The man has mercifully let up on his mouth, and is now sucking kisses down his neck. The wet heat of them makes his dick ache.

“You’re really looking for someone to stick a dick into _you_ , aren’t you?”

Ford freezes, the embarrassment burning through him. His hands come up of their own accord to shove the guy off him, but then the man grabs his hands and pins them by his head. His half-hearted struggle dies before it’s really had a chance to begin.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! You can have whatever you want here,” Bill says. He’s flown in close now, his one eye staring keenly at Ford. “Go on, you can be honest with me.”

Ford swallows, and looks into Bill’s eye. He wants—he wants to not say anything and continue, without having to analyze _why_ he wants this, but Bill is staring like he wants an answer.

“Yes,” he says.

“Yes, you want a dick in you?”

“Yes, I’ve been curious about what it’s like to be on the receiving end during sex."

“You don’t have to repeat everything I say, Sixer!” Bill says gleefully. He retreats back to a safe distance and snaps his fingers. The man, who, unnoticed by Ford, had been entirely frozen, comes back to life. His chest heaves breaths against Ford’s, and his body heat returns like a furnace. 

This time, he goes for Ford’s sweater, and gets it off of his torso with some squirming from Ford. He’s careless with it, and leaves it tangled around Ford’s head when halfway through. Ford’s face burns from more than heat, and he struggles to free himself. Before he does, the man bring his mouth to Ford’s chest and _sucks_ , causing him to jerk up and hopelessly tangle himself further. God, he must look like a mess.

“Need some help there, Sixer?” Bill asks, right on cue, and before Ford has a chance to protest the sweater disappears from his head. 

“Thanks, Bill,” he murmurs embarrassedly, and starts to bring his arms down when he realizes that they’re bound together in what feels like sweater material. Great.

It leaves him helpless to do anything as the man slowly licks around his nipple, allowing his teeth to scrape it occasionally. The other nipple gets similar treatment from the man’s fingers, torturing the tiny bud back and forth. The dry friction isn’t quite as satisfying, but the jolts of pleasure-pain numb his mind, and he’s pliant enough when the man releases his nipple to stick a few fingers into his mouth. 

“Mmph!” he protests belatedly, but then the guy pushes his hand farther in and Ford's jaw is stretched too wide to properly bite down. He prods around inside, almost indifferently, stroking fingers around his tongue. When they’re sufficiently slick, he brings the hand back down to the other nipple, and _oh_ , that’s good. 

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Bill comments, and Ford cuts off the moan that’s been building in his throat with a quiet sound of embarrassment.

“… Thank you,” he tells Bill. Bill's half-lidded gaze opens wide, then crinkles into a smile. 

“You’re welcome,” he says magnanimously. “But Fordsy,” he says, growing bigger until Ford feels like he’s shrinking under his gaze, “Are you sure this is enough for you?” 

“Enough?” he asks, but as soon as he’s said it, he knows what Bill means. The unbidden image returns, numerous hands on his body, covering his mouth, fondling his chest, prodding fingers into him—Bill’s eye is half-lidded, like he’s peering into the same vision.

Of course. Of course Bill would know. He opens his mouth to say something, but a hand covers his mouth. It’s not the one playing with his chest, nor the one propping the guy up. Additional arms sprout out of the body, and he can’t see quite how the anatomy of it all holds together but he also couldn’t care less at that moment as one of them, finally, reaches down to palm his dick, another reaches down to squeeze his ass, and one lightly tickles up his side.

Ford moans, loud even with the hand muffling his mouth, and then it’s gone and the sound of his voice is loud in his own ears as the man’s arms return to a more reasonable number. And then, he sits back on Ford’s leg and watches him.

Bill, it seems, isn’t going to take the choice out of Ford’s hands. If Ford wants something, he’s going to have to take it himself. He can still feel his shame hot in his face, but he can also feel it acutely between his legs. Alright, so he wants to be overwhelmed, to get held down and- and fucked by a number of guys. When would he ever get a chance for that in real life? He’s safe here, and Bill—Bill watching him with his calm, neutral eye—Bill would never use it against him. 

He closes his eyes, and imagines it: the man splitting in halves to two, and then four, and then—no, he can’t be greedy. The last two materialize quickly in succession, and when he opens his eyes they’re there, creepily identical. The one still in its original position, the others assembled in a loose semicircle. 

“I knew you had it in you, kid!” Bill says proudly, as if he’s just given birth to them. “Looks like you might need a bit of help on the faces though.” He smacks one of them on the side head, and his features shuffle sideways through the rest, like a six-person slot machine. They slowly fall into place, reassembling, and then all the familiar parts start to match up. … oh, shit. A college friend, his favorite professor, a guy from his high school basketball team… no, no, _no_. They settle one by one, and before the last one has the chance to settle into a face as familiar as his own, he punches it, hard. 

It sets them going again, and this time they reassemble randomly, and not quite identical.

“Aw, I thought I was helping,” Bill says, sounding a bit glum. He prods one’s cheek, which dimples, and another's nose, which grows. Ford can live with that. Then, Bill slaps one easily on his back, sending him stumbling forward towards Ford. 

He expects some more kissing, maybe, but instead the guy straddles his shoulders, and strokes a hand through his hair. It’s clear where he wants Ford, whose suspicions are confirmed when the hand in his hair pulls him up to press his face against a still-clothed cock.


End file.
